Good Enough

by Jen Petro-Roy

  “Remember, if you wait out the anxiety and surf the wave…” Willow pretended she was on a surfboard. “Then the anxiety will crest and fall. You’ll realize there’s nothing to be afraid of. Whether it’s a peanut butter sandwich or adjusting to a new body shape, everything becomes normal after a little while, especially now that you’re feeding your brain enough to reason with it.” She pretended to fall off her surfboard. I rolled my eyes.

  What Willow said made sense. She made me want to believe her. She made me want to eat a peanut butter sandwich. I really do like peanut butter. Once I even dreamed about it. (Okay, twice.)

  That’s why I let Willow convince me to put it on my menu for tomorrow.

  “I know you can do this, Riley. I promise that once you have that sandwich, you’ll realize peanut butter isn’t such a big deal. That it’s normal to fuel your body.” She looked me in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

  Ed told me not to trust her. He told me Willow was a big lying liar who lies. He said I’d die if I ate that sandwich.

  “I trust you,” I told her. “I can do it.”

  I still don’t know if I can. But I’m going to try.

  I’m going to fart, too, apparently.

  * * *

  I feel like this place is a time capsule, sealed up and preserved for millions of years. When I get out, the ice caps will be melted. Elephants will be extinct and the plants will have mutated into eight-foot-tall beanstalks. Everyone I know and love will be gone.

  It’s a scary thought.

  It’s also a nice thought. Because if everyone I know is gone, no one will know me as Skinny Riley.

  I can be whoever I want to be.

  DAY TWELVE: FRIDAY

  I ate the sandwich!

  I feel proud but also really freaked out. Brenna said I’m awesome and gave me a big hug. She had cake for her lunch dessert, which still makes her nervous. We gave each other pep talks before we went into the dining room. We were like eating disorder cheerleaders but without the pleated skirts and pom-poms.

  She rocked it. I rocked it.

  We did it.

  Wow.

  * * *

  Emerson came to visit tonight! I didn’t know she was coming, so it was a total surprise. I was sitting in the group room before evening snack, trying to decide between watching boring Wheel of Fortune or Star Wars: The Last Jedi. Jean poked her head in the door.

  “You have a visitor, Riley!”

  Mom? I didn’t know she was coming. I thought she had an exhibition tonight. I felt like dogs do when they spot a squirrel in the corner of their eye. I whipped my head around so fast my ponytail turned into a real tail.

  Wag wag! Squirrel!

  No Mom.

  But seeing Emerson was almost as awesome!

  She ran over but stopped about a foot away. “Are we allowed to hug?” She peeked at Jean. “Is that against the rules?”

  I laughed. An “I haven’t laughed with you in months” laugh. A “you’re here and you didn’t forget about me” laugh. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be happy. To see Emerson and not have my first thought be about how I can hide my eating stuff from her.

  I forgot about the peanut butter. I forgot about Ali. At that moment, it was just me and Emerson. I was “in the moment,” like they teach us in Mindfulness Group. I didn’t worry about the past and I didn’t worry about the future. I was just glad to see my friend.

  It’s like there’s been this veil between us for the past year and someone finally lifted it up. Maybe I lifted it up.

  Is this what they mean when they say that recovery is worth it? That I can keep feeling moments of happiness like this? I felt sparkly, like I could dash through a field of rainbows or ride on the back of a unicorn.

  Emerson was here! She looked the same, too. The same curly red hair poofing out around her face. The same green eyes, so much like mine but somehow way prettier. Even though she looked like she’d come right from her track meet, with her hair pulled back and her dirty Asics still on, my happiness to see Emerson outweighed my jealousy that she got to run today and I didn’t.

  We hugged, but she pulled back right away like I was contagious. Like I was in the “sick” part of the hospital instead of the mental wing. I tried not to take it personally. Willow’s been working with me on not automatically assuming people think badly of me.

  Before we left to go to my room, Jean asked Emerson if she had any “contraband.”

  “Like weapons?” Emerson’s eyes were wide.

  I shook my head. “Like food, silly. Or sharps.”

  “Sharps?”

  “Stuff like scissors,” I explained.

  “Why?”

  “So people can’t hurt themselves.” I said it matter-of-factly, but Emerson looked like she’d found out the Tooth Fairy isn’t real.

  “Patients here hurt themselves?” Emerson asked. “That’s so scary.”

  “It is, but it’s just a problem they’re dealing with. They’re getting help, like me.”

  That’s when I realized something. That twelve days on an eating disorder unit is enough time to start thinking in a new way. To realize that even though the rest of the world may think of us as sick, we’re all just people with our own issues.

  We’re all trying to get better in our own ways.

  That’s not scary, that’s amazing.

  It made me think about Julia, too. How she works to get better at gymnastics with her coaches and sometimes even Mom yelling at her and correcting her. How she gets bumps and bruises on the outside, just like I’m getting them on the inside.

  How everyone outside of the hospital probably has their own problems. (Except Talia. I bet Talia’s only problem is a thunderstorm when she’s wearing a full face of makeup. Even then, I bet she wears all waterproof stuff.)

  After a while, though, it started to seem like Emerson had a problem, too—a problem with being at the hospital. When Jean searched her backpack and took her gum away, Emerson squirmed. When I talked about my meal plan and how I freaked out about peanut butter, she didn’t listen. Emerson kept peeking out the door, like she was waiting for a horde of zombies to walk by. And when I asked Emerson about school, she basically avoided my questions. Here’s what I found out:

  Track: “It’s good. We won today.”

  School: “It’s hard. Mrs. Monahan gave two pop quizzes last week.”

  Josie: “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask her.”

  Emerson didn’t ask me any questions and she barely answered mine, even when I brought up the art class she’d seemed so excited about.

  “It sounds so fun!”

  Emerson looked at her fingernails, which were teal and gold and shimmered like a mermaid’s tail. Mine were bare and jagged because I’ve been biting them since I got here.

  “Are you sure you’ll be out by then?” she asked. “And, you know, okay to do stuff? I know Coach Jackson said you won’t be ready for regionals. Can you still do art?”

  “Coach said what?” I gripped my hands into fists. “Of course I’ll be out in time to qualify for regionals. What, do you think I’m too huge and slow now?”

  I don’t know why I was so defensive. Why regionals suddenly mattered so much to me. I mean, yeah, I’ve had urges to run in here. But that’s different from wanting to do track. I haven’t thought about racing much at all, actually. The idea of competing makes me exhausted.

  “No!” Emerson waved her hands in the air. “I didn’t say that. It’s just, uh, what I heard. Plus, your mom told my mom you didn’t know when you’d be getting out.”

  “Soon. I’ll be out soon. And I’ll be faster than ever.” I glared at Emerson. “Plus, of course I can still draw. Anorexia didn’t break my hands.”

  Emerson flinched at the word anorexia. I used to do that, too, before I got in here. Now it’s normal to throw out words like bulimia and binge, anorexia and purge. They’re just words. Labels that don’t say anything about who we are.

  (That’s what the
counselors tell us, at least. That’s what I’m trying to believe.)

  “Maybe we should wait to sign up,” Emerson said. “Just in case.”

  In case of what? I wanted to yell. In case you don’t want to be friends with me if I’m not Runner Riley anymore? In case Coach really does decide I can’t run?

  All of a sudden Emerson was like a stranger. Like the veil hadn’t lifted after all but turned into a brick wall instead.

  I don’t feel sparkly anymore.

  DAY THIRTEEN: SATURDAY

  Mom visited.

  Dad didn’t visit.

  I asked Mom about what Emerson had said. Mom said Emerson was right, that Coach Jackson isn’t letting me run in any of the qualifying meets for regionals even if I’m discharged in time. He says it’s a matter of “responsibility” and “health.” That I need to be 100 percent before I run again. That he could be blamed if I get hurt.

  I hate that I won’t be able to run anytime soon. I also hate that deep down, I’m relieved. I hate that I’m so tired, inside and out.

  I should want to run. I should be visualizing the starting blocks in my head, seeing my arms pump and my legs whirl. I should be ready to slip into my uniform and cleats the second I march out the hospital door.

  Should, should, should.

  I don’t want to think like this. I have to be a runner. I am a runner.

  I’ve lost so much in here. I can’t give up that part of myself, too.

  I want to give up that part of myself, though. I want to draw. Maybe I’ll find something else I love even more than drawing.

  My head keeps yelling at me.

  My heart keeps yelling at me.

  My heart is louder today.

  Maybe I don’t have to be a runner to be me.

  DAY FIFTEEN: MONDAY

  Another day, another weight check, another cup of Gatorade.

  Another shower, too. The counselors make us keep the doors open while we shower, so we don’t throw up or do jumping jacks or whatever. Slippery jumping jacks would be totally dangerous. I bet Ali has done them, though. She did crunches again last night.

  I didn’t. It was the first time I resisted the urge. My head kept yelling at me to give in: Do them do them do them.

  Right now it’s yelling at me again: Why didn’t you do crunches? You can’t run anymore. You don’t even want to run anymore. Let this be your exercise!

  Ed: You’re gross. You’ve been eating so much. You’re going to get huge.

  Healthy Voice: It’s okay to be bigger. I’m getting happier, too.

  Ed: No. You have to fix yourself. Don’t eat. Do crunches tonight. You’ll feel better.

  Healthy Voice: But I’m not supposed to. I’m proud that I’m trying to recover.

  Ed: You’re weak. You’re not Skinny Riley anymore.

  Healthy Voice: Not exercising makes me strong. A different kind of strong.

  I hate that voice. I want to stick some duct tape over its lips. Duct tape is awesome. You can make wallets out of that stuff. Purses, too. Some girl online made a prom dress. Duct tape is way strong, too. I bet if you taped a bunch of strips together, it could hold up a whole person. A small person, anyway. Like the person I don’t have to be anymore.

  I did a check-in today. It was the first one I’ve sought out all on my own. I told Heather that I felt like running. I told her that I didn’t feel like running at the same time. That I was relieved I didn’t have to try to make regionals and confused about being relieved.

  “My body feels gross.” I looked at the ground while I talked to her. It felt weird talking to someone besides Willow about my problems. I thought Heather was going to tell me I was silly for worrying. I needed to talk to someone, though, and Brenna said that check-ins help her.

  “For the first time ever, I don’t have the energy to ‘fix’ myself. I don’t want to fix myself. But then five seconds later all I want is to go back in time to when I was super sick. Is that normal? Am I broken?”

  Heather shook her head. She told me that recovery isn’t a straight line and that it’s normal to shift between “Yay, recovery!” and “Everything is awful” in the same day.

  “In the same minute even,” she reassured me. “You can have ups and downs, as long as you stay on the path. The line doesn’t have to be straight, as long as you keep moving forward and keep trying.

  “Right now, you can’t help thinking this way,” Heather said. “It just happens. Your brain goes there. But we’re training your brain not to go there. We’re teaching you to fight back.”

  I like the idea of brain training. It makes me think of Xavier Academy, the school where the X-Men go to learn to control their powers. To do good instead of evil. (Brenna loaned me one of those comics yesterday. She’s trying to teach me to be a better geek. She says I’m getting an A-plus so far.)

  This is my Academy, where I can learn how to stop thinking about the butter on my toast this morning. Where I can learn to stop analyzing every millimeter of my body.

  “Thoughts aren’t actions,” Heather said. “And you’re not doing anything wrong.”

  That’s where she’s wrong, though. Because I am doing something wrong. Actually, I’m not doing something. I’m not telling anyone about Ali. I’m worried about her. She keeps having to drink Boosts, and she’s yelling at the counselors a lot.

  I used to be jealous of Ali, but now I see her differently: She has dark circles under her eyes. She never smiles.

  Last night Ali gasped for breath a bunch of times. I thought she was going to die. I almost got up and went to the nurses’ station for help, but then she stopped. What if something does happen? It’ll be all my fault. I have to tell someone.

  DAY SIXTEEN: TUESDAY

  Today’s Willow’s birthday. I don’t know how Meredith found out, but she did. We’re having a meeting in the group room this afternoon to plan a party!

  Meredith told us the news in a whisper, like she was a superspy. A secret ballerina superspy.

  “Message received,” I whispered back. “Agent Logan, over and out.” Meredith started to giggle, but I put my finger to my lips. “Silence is priority number one,” I whispered. “Super-stealth mode is activated. Agent Logan will be incommunicado until our next rendezvous point.” I stuck out my hand for a secret handshake. Only it turns out you really can’t do a secret handshake if the other person has no idea what you’re doing. So I basically flailed my hand in the air and slapped Meredith’s palm. That’s when Heather came out with her clipboard. She gave me the weirdest look ever.

  “Over and out,” I mumbled.

  The other girls broke into giggles. Heather rolled her eyes. That made us laugh more.

  Willow’s turning thirty. I thought she was younger, but Meredith overheard Willow say her age. Thirty is a big birthday. When Aunt Rose turned thirty, she quit her teaching job and went to Italy for three months. She came back engaged to a guy from her bike tour named Raoul, who lived with her in Boston for a while and then moved to California to be a yogi. Aunt Rose cried for two weeks and then decided she still wanted to be a teacher after all.

  Aunt Rose has a very complicated life.

  My whole point is that thirty is a big birthday, one where you stop and think about what you want.

  We all like Willow. That’s why we decided that we don’t want her to quit her job and move to Italy. We want her to stay here and keep helping girls like us.

  “We have to throw her a birthday party.” Meredith bounced up and down on the toes of her flats. They’re the closest she can get to ballet slippers in here. “Maybe they’ll even let us dance.”

  “Ooooh, yes!” Brenna bounced in her seat. Today is a very bouncy day. “We can put up balloons and streamers and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and get her presents and have cake!”

  “Extra cake?” Laura asked. “On top of our meal plan? No way.”

  She had a point. “Maybe we can have cake as part of our meal plan?” Brenna asked.

  “Of course you wan
t cake,” Ali mumbled. We all still heard her being a jerk, though.

  “Don’t say stuff like that.” I didn’t mumble. Brenna doesn’t deserve snarky comments about what she eats. None of us deserve snarky comments about what we eat.

  “Stuff like what?” Ali asked. “I can say whatever I want.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Like stuff certain people are doing at night.”

  “No one’s doing anything at night except sleeping, Ali.” Aisha butted in, then turned her back on Ali. So did Meredith. So did everyone else. They didn’t ask what Ali was talking about. They just took my side. They took Brenna’s side. And we kept planning the party.

  It wasn’t like at school, when whatever Talia says becomes law. When the girls she hates become the girls everyone hates. Today everyone had a mind of her own.

  And they picked me.

  (We’re still deciding about the cake.)

  * * *

  We didn’t have streamers, so we made those paper chains Julia and I used to decorate the Christmas tree with, where you tape construction paper strips into circles and hook them into a long strand. Instead of red and green, we used every color of the rainbow.

  Instead of balloons, we made signs:

  Happy Birthday, Willow!

  Thank you for helping us!

  You’re a great therapist!

  I overheard Heather and Jean talking about how mature we were. They also made up some fake meeting for Willow to go to while we decorated. When Willow finally came in, she was so surprised she shrieked. “Oh my goodness, girls! You are the sweetest people ever. I’ll never forget this day.”

  We played music! (Even some non-approved music with “questionable lyrics.”)

  We danced! (For about five minutes, until Jean told us we were being too active.)

  It was so much fun.

  * * *

  Laura’s going out to dinner with her parents tonight. She got a special pass since her dad is going overseas this weekend. He’s in the army and is going back to Afghanistan. Laura looked upset when she told us in group, so I tried to talk to her after. She totally shut me out, which made me think of Josie.